


Dead I am the One

by TrashyTime



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alive Dettlaff van der Eretein, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Child Death, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Is it's own warning, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Omega Verse, Only Vampires Are Omega Verse, Powerful omegas, Protective Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Something Made Them Do It, The Orphanage, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24819229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyTime/pseuds/TrashyTime
Summary: Geralt makes the choice to use Professor Moreau's lab and to enhance his mutations. Regis is quite correct in how he notes that Geralt always seemed to have more Higher Vampire traits than other Witchers. Now they're active, and the world may never be the same again.Only Vampires have Alpha or Omega dynamics. Only Elders are Omegas. Only an Elder's blood allows Higher Vampires to spawn, and all of the clans were formed around the Omega that is their Elder.There has been no new clan since the conjunction, for there are no new Omegas in this strange world they have been stranded in.These facts make Geralt going into heat something the Elder can not pass up. No matter what Geralt was born as, he is a Vampire now. A new clan will be formed.All Geralt wants is to keep Regis safe and stop the killing. If this is how he can accomplish that, well, he will just have to adapt.Treat for the Summer Heat Fic Exchange!
Relationships: Dettlaff van der Eretein/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Dettlaff van der Eretein/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dettlaff van der Eretein/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 36
Kudos: 179
Collections: Heat Fic Summer 2020





	Dead I am the One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hobbitdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon/gifts).



> Chapter 2 and 3 in the process of being reworked and edited, and chapter 4 is in my notes. The whole of this story is fleshed out, and will not be expanding. 
> 
> Many thanks to the lovely Lutes for helping me beta this. 100 grammar mistakes fixed and waves it off with "oh it was only a little polish". I am not worthy.
> 
> Go thank them for this looking 90% better than most of my usual self edited dreck. https://lutes-and-dandelions.tumblr.com/

Geralt has done a lot of very stupid things in his long lifetime. Messing about with the mutagens in Professor Moreau’s lab, at the time, seemed like it would probably barely even become a footnote in the epic book that Jaskier could pen about all the things Geralt has done in the past that came back to bite him afterwards. He figured out all the steps after some fussing around, and was a lot stronger for it, so all in all, he deemed it a rousing success.

Like most things in his life, the very ease of that victory should have been a clue that things were about to take a turn for the worse. Nothing in his life has ever been both painless and free of struggle. Not even the very best things in his life have been handed to him as easily as the mutagens in that lab. 

In rapid succession, from the labs to Anna Henrietta’s palace, everything very much began to turn to shit. Dettlaff follows through on his threat about attacking if Syanna doesn’t show, and Anna Henrietta is as stubborn and bull headed as ever in the face of a literal rain of blood. Geralt refuses to negotiate with a monster willing to do this to an entire town, that resolve only firming as he sees firsthand how the bloodshed and horrors of the city under siege only gets worse the further into it he goes. Saving Damien hopefully keeps the worst of it at bay for the city at large, with Geralt impressing what tools they need to make to fight off the worst of the attack. He would stay, himself, to try to fight off as many of the vampires as he can, but Regis’s plan needs Orianna’s help to find the location of the Elder. In the city of Beauclair she alone possesses the key to unlocking the portal to the Elder's lair. Geralt simply has to hope the city can keep itself intact long enough for him to stop Dettlaff.

Events unfold, and he finds himself riding with Orianna to an orphanage of all places. That orphanage will haunt his dreams, he can tell it will seep into the rotation of his nightmares even now. In every single dead child, he can’t help but see Ciri’s small form from when he first met her. The smell of the blood is nauseating, vile in a way that’s so much more potent than usual. It is as if the sickly sweet scent of rot was overlaid and wound through the scent of the blood itself. The only survivor is calmed and settled with an application of axii, but something in Geralt’s gut says it will be less than ideal to leave him with Orianna. On the other hand, whatever did this, needs ended far more than his largely unfounded reservations can excuse staying here when the monster could be getting away. As everything this night, he measures out the balance of what prevents the most harm before turning to identify and track down what killed these kids.

Geralt’s jaw clenches when he finds far too many of the children with scarred necks. There is more than one monster that has been feasting on the sickly sweet smelling blood. In fact, it seems the monster that killed most of these kids did so more for fun than to feast. The loss of so many lives, of so many potential future people, makes some new instinct inside him snap and snarl. Life is precious to him, now more than ever. And in all of these small faces he feels that resonance to his own child-surprise and the daughter of his heart. By the time he makes it to the bridge he is ready to fight as dirty as he needs to if it will end this vile blight of a vampire.

The battle with the Alpha Garkain is strange on multiple levels. It might be his anger fueling it, but everything moves easier, despite how he knows this beast is far stronger than it’s brethren. The stench of the Garkain curls his lips, but it’s mental blast attacks barely slow him. The venom tingles, and that, at least, has to be the work of the mutagens. The fight is over within less than a single moment. The silver sword seems to cut far deeper than it ever has on the lesser Garkain in the past, or more, perhaps his blows hit harder. Geralt sets everything aside for later pondering, taking the head and swiftly returning to the massacred orphanage. 

The sounds and smell of feeding leave him rattling with a growl that seems more monster than Witcher. Geralt barely pauses as he enters, sword drawn and the gravelly tone to his words lending them a sharpness that seems to startle Orianna as he spits his disgust at her actions. The sight of Orianna hiding behind the child only makes the growl that much harsher in tone as his entire chest rumbles with the force of them. The higher vampire’s hands tremble to the point of nearly dropping the wide flat stone that will open the magic door that guards the Unseen Elder’s lair, as she hands it over. She is keeping the child between them even as her eyes are darting along and over him, searching Geralt’s face as if he has become something entirely new within the span of the last few moments. 

When he delivers his promise to come back for her in roughly spat words, he can smell true fear, something unexpected for how her words bluff at being unaffected. She shakes like the child she hides behind, even as she says something pithy and forgettable about how she will be looking forward to his return. Somehow, he thinks she will not be staying in Toussaint beyond the night. 

Geralt waves it off, focusing instead on finding ravens to hopefully get Regis to the docks as quickly as possible, every minute delayed is more lives lost in the city. By the time Regis shows up, adrenaline left over from the earlier confrontation is still making the world around Geralt move slower than it should. Regis offers a half hearted comment about never wanting to believe it was true, but seems rattled by something more than just the facts as Geralt grits out the truth behind Orianna’s orphanage with a sharp note of that new growling in his voice. His eyes search Geralt, and his head tilts, the voice that has been a source of comfort the entire time Geralt has known him pitching even lower and smoother as he cautions the dangers of visiting the Elder. His chin tilting and the side of his neck subtly flexing towards Geralt in a flash of pale skin. 

The growling note slowly fades from Geralt’s tone and if anything Regis doubles down on trying to convince Geralt to go with the Syanna plan, but when Geralt expresses that nothing will change his mind, Regis drops it without further comment as they climb into the boat together. The growling tone might have returned. It’s very odd, and whatever the mutagens have done to Geralt, it seems to be growing in strength. 

A part of Geralt worries what this means. Worries that like the boys who mutated too much, too fast, he will snap or become a monster himself. The sense of urgency lit in his belly leaves his shoulders flexing and eyes squinting against the rain. Regis talks of how the Elder dislikes guests, and of the traditional stone gift they are missing. Trivial things that serve as distractions from how every wasted moment feels a moment too long. Once the boat is across the stormy waters of the lake, it is nearly a straight walk up the carved path along the cliff side towards the unnaturally smooth stone that makes up the doorway. With a simple wave of the key stone, the door moves itself aside with nary a sound as it slips into the rocks at their feet. The path beyond the door is as easy to follow as the well worn path up to the door itself. After a short walk, they are in a wide, dead silent cavern, lit by the ever burning braisers mentioned in passing on the boat. The fires within them flicker dimly every so often along the path. Geralt thinks that he should need a Cat potion to see half the details he can along the spaces between the braisers, but the dim light seems as bright as daylight to him. Another new ability to ponder later.

Geralt’s gaze is drawn up to where the inhuman form of the Elder hangs upside down like some fairytale vampire from a human story. Half naked and scarred with a precision that speaks of unknown rituals, Geralt finds it quite nonsensical to see such a revered being standing upside down as if attempting to be a living stalactite. There is a sense of dangerous power, in the stillness of the form above them, clawed hands clasping around his own naked shoulders like a child trying to comfort itself after a particularly bad scolding. The bald head gleams in the low light, and while he is turned away from them, Geralt can feel in his bones that the ancient being was aware of every move they make. 

Geralt watches as Regis bows low in supplication, a lyrical language Geralt has never heard, yet feels somehow soothing, slides out in that low honey sweet tone Regis had used before on the docks. Something like deference perhaps, whatever that tone, it seems to change the way Regis’s voice feels in his hearing. The Elder, when he moves, is too fast for Geralt to do more than step towards Regis, before his rumbling voice cracks through the air. Regis’s spine arches back, head snapping further still towards the middle of his back and arms flung unnaturally akimbo, to complete the wide open defenseless posture that bares both the entirety of his belly and neck, as well as leaves all his pulse points exposed. Regis's muscles visibly quiver under the force of the power trapping him, a power so great Geralt could feel it even without his medallion.

Geralt watches the Elder retreat once more up to the cavern ceiling, fast, but not so fast he can’t track him, in the pumped adrenaline soaked hyperfocus he is currently stuck in. He growls, moving defensively before Regis as he tries to talk to the Elder, the mocking laughter making Geralt’s own shoulders climb up towards his ears as the rattling growl builds to a fever pitch once more in his chest. 

When the Elder mists, Geralt loses him, turning a fraction too late as he is pinned, his hands fighting a paralysis that slips over him like oil when the Elder bit into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, tasting him, draining him from the massive rent torn there. He blindly punches out against the side of the Elder’s head, being flung far away from the elder in the same instant as his fist connects with the ice cold skin. The Elder looks shocked, stunned even, in the fleeting glimpse Geralt has of the craggy face, golden slitted eyes an exact match for his own where they glow in the low light. Geralt sails through a few stalagmites that break as he is slammed into them, before he is bashing off a rock wall and tumbling down a sharply sloped path. It feels like he smashes into every rock and boulder on the slope, yet none stop his rolling descent.

A superior swallow potion, carefully dug out of his belt bag, later and no one would believe Geralt had just suffered from a dizzying combination of blood loss and blunt force trauma. Of course, much to Geralt's chagrin, the headache that has been brewing since his confrontation with Orianna isn't affected by the potion at all. 

In the distance he can faintly hear the sound of what seems to be angry questioning, the exact words muffled by the stream flowing next to him. The pervasive glow of the cavern gives more than enough light to see that there is no way he can scale the cliff face to return to the Elder and Regis. The glowing cavern is so odd, Geralt can't help but hope to find something to aid him here as he begins to take it all in. After a long moment of searching the roof of the cavern, some way above him thanks to the caverns incredibly tall sides, his eyes fall on a stalactite just in the right spot to be knocked free to leave him able to ascend up to the path back. At first he ponders how to reach it before really grasping that there is a river flowing along the roof of the cavern, rushing as wide and deep as the stream winding along the ground beside him.

Geralt’s line of sight is drawn to where a glowing stream is flowing up along the cavern’s crystalline side. Geralt observes the water as it defies gravity, and for a moment he debates, before he decides to test stepping onto the wall itself. He places a tentative foot on the wall and his sense of orientation shifts, and he finds himself walking up the wall beside the stream. 

For all that the strangeness of the cavern is unlike anything he has ever heard of, let alone experienced, this oddity is nothing on the strangeness of the oddly smoothed, huge bat like vampires he meets guarding the paths, made up of formations of rock, around the stream’s course along the walls and roof. Every inch of the paths are lit, somehow brighter then even sunlight, with light radiating up from the sparkling blue water in ways that defy all Geralt knows of the world. Whenever they see him, the strange vampires attack him at first. However, by the time they reach striking distance, they appear confused, each breaking off from their attack to sniff him, something which only seems to deepen their bewilderment, before scurrying away from him. They continue to stare, he feels their eyes following him yet none attack him beyond that first aggressive but aborted assault. As soon as Dettlaff is handled, Geralt's going to have to figure out what exactly the hell the mutagens did to him.

By the time he stumbles across a dead mage and his advisor’s note explaining how to greet an Elder Vampire, as well as the attached traditional stone used as a gift for seeking audience with one, he is sweating with some sort of fever. Unless the magic that has gravity reversed is causing it, or there is some sort of magical spores he is unknowingly breathing, it is likely that the mutagens from the Professor’s lab are doing a lot more to him than he could have ever anticipated. He swears emphatically at the uncomfortable realization. 

Geralt finds the large stalactite and on examining the base, finds where he can knock it free. He does so with a few careful blows and watches it slam into the area in front of the path back, making a perfect slope for him to climb up and out of there. Geralt looks back the way he came and at the vampires milling around the path up the wall and along the ceiling before cursing once more. Every instinct told him they would not hurt him, however there were dozens of the hulking forms. There was no way he wanted to test that gut instinct and be proven wrong. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he looks around for another option. The strange waterfall that feeds back into the start of the glowing river in an endless loop gives him an idea. It’s, frankly, easily the stupidest idea he has consciously chosen to follow through on despite knowing just how stupid it is, in at least a week. He doesn’t count the mutagens in that, he could not have foreseen them going quite so spectacularly wrong.

The water is frigid on his skin as he jumps into the river and falls a hundred or more feet into the basin of the waterfall. At the shock of cold, the pain from his headache, which is already intense, increases to the point it feels blinding. It feels suddenly like someone has taken a hammer and nails to the inside of his skull, and leaves him lightheaded. He can barely keep a handle on it as a blistering thirst that no amount of water could cure, winds itself through the pain in his head. It’s almost like he is outside his body, observing from afar even as he is inside himself. He feels disconnected, in nearly all ways, as he ascends the stalactite and stumbles up the path back towards the cavern. It’s painfully easy to follow the scent of Regis. It’s as if Regis fills his nose, and every step towards the Higher Vampire stokes some smoldering fire within his belly. 

Geralt finds his mouth watering as he returns to the first cavern, eyes drawn to where Regis is still attempting to fight off the Elder’s hold. That Geralt could shrug off the hold enough to punch the ancient being, while Regis is still locked within his hold so completely, makes something in the back of Geralt’s mind scream at the wrongness. As he watches Regis's capable fingers flex time and again, the only movement he seems to have actively regained, Geralt finds himself thankful that whatever mutation he exposed himself to in the lab has allowed him to continue to function, potentially saving them both. Whatever the cost, being able to save Regis seems more important than any suffering that comes as a result. The thought that Regis is his, thus should not ever be trapped like that, slithers through the fever soaked edges of his mind like a snake cutting through grass. 

Geralt bows like Regis had, offering the stone as he growls out the words on the paper, words Regis himself had used. The stone is swiped from his hand, and the matching growl of the Unseen Elder rattles through the air, “You live, the blood is true.” 

Geralt’s eyes narrow, and before he can speak, the Elder moves towards him and, in that grating voice that seems to make Geralt’s own mental hackles rise, notes as if lecturing Geralt, “The mind of your self-chosen Alpha is weak. I know you came to have me summon Dettlaff. He will be a better first mate for you. You were not born of the blood, but of the blood you now are.” The Elder looks, smells, pleased despite the tone he has taken. 

Geralt is too startled to react as the Elder speaks of mates, so startled he doesn't avoid being shoved into the wall with a bloody wrist pressed to his lips. The blood tastes like every good thing he has ever eaten, smooth and rich as the most expensive wines. He barely has a thought beyond gulping as much as he can, not even thinking to flinch back or consider what was happening, what he was doing. All too soon the rich blood was pulled away. "You are ready for your mates, now," the Elder growls, but Geralt does not register the words, merely hears him, unable to truly comprehend their meaning through the drunken haze left behind in the wake of his frantic first drink of blood.


End file.
